Maybe the future includes all these people that I would never get close to and my soul is just out there lapping over the waves. What would I say to them, that I saw Kotzebue when there was ice with kids jumping into it or Alaska when there was snow that moves and blows across our breast. That I had kids, two boys and one that was older and so sensitive that you had to give him and itinerary of everything that we were ever thinking of doing, a boy that fell out of our of trees and broke all his arms crisscrossing over soccer pictures. A son that thinks of things and asks of things, with his head so big and his fragile bat eyesight that he plays chase slow. How little do we know when we know so much.

My father, my father… in here all the time with sail boats and clocks and sky wandering things
My mother, my mother with her hands falling over and through my hair…

I pull them up and kiss them over and over again… on the edge of time.